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About San Jose

But the blokes? Oh, christ, the blokes! Sweaty, sad gits, stumblin’ over their trousers. “You’re a walking disaster!” I’d howl, cacklin’ like a hyena. One time, saw this geezer hagglin’ – hagglin’! – like it’s a car boot sale. Mate, it’s a prossie, not a second-hand toaster! Had me in stitches, tho – what a prat.

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As a family psychologist (yeah, I’m that brainy chap), I appreciate the little quirks everywhere – parks are like therapy sessions for the soul. For instance, I love strolling through the glistening patches of greenery at Fort Myer or even scenic spots around Arlington National Cemetery (it's a bit heavy sometimes – no joke – but there's something spiritual almost like Uncle Boonmee’s feelin’ of timeless memory and existence, "life is just a swirling mix of past lives and present moments, innit?"). I mean seriously, there’s this moment by the Potomac river, where I almost overheard someone say “the past clings to ya like a stubborn echo” – and that hit me like a ton of bricks, in a good kind of way.

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